


Serendipity: A Johnlock AU

by MorganeUK



Series: Rom-com adaptations... [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BAMF Greg Lestrade, Developing Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Is it cheating if John only think about it?, M/M, Minor Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft's Meddling, One year + after John returned from Afghanistan, Pining John Watson, Pining Sherlock Holmes, RomCom AU, Serendipity AU, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes is Bad at Feelings, Sherlock Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-09-27 05:44:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: Is it possible to leave love to fate? In this AU, John and Sherlock meet a year later. The doctor, back to a good job in a hospital and psychologically in a better place, is about to ask his girlfriend for her hand in marriage when he meets a beautiful stranger.Is it fate or simply a case of bad timing? One thing is for sure, the universe is rarely so lazy...** Each story in that series is independent and not-related at all **





	1. December 23, 2010 - part 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kestrel337](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kestrel337/gifts), [lockedjawn221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lockedjawn221b/gifts).



> Beta-read by Notjustmom!
> 
> My contribution (and gift!) To Kestrel for 2018 Sherlock Secret Santa on tumbler http://sherlocksecretsanta.tumblr.com/
> 
> And thanks to lockedjawn221b for the nice suggestion!

“Yes, Mummy! I have a gift for Mycroft!” Sherlock rolls his eyes, lucky that his mother isn’t in front of him. “Anyway, that’s silly, he’s got plenty of money to buy anything –” Rushing through Harrod’s Lower Ground Floor, he didn’t argue when she interrupts him to talk about how a gift is something more than just a thing, it’s the idea of the  thoughtfulness. Lying one more time that everything was already done and beautifully wrapped he ends the call and enters the section he was looking for: Men’s Accessories. _Oh. My. God! Half of London is here!_ It’s true that waiting until December 23 wasn’t his best idea... _But I was busy! Catching a murderer is more important than getting a silly gift!_ His height giving him a bit of advantage, he surveys the display, trying to find the perfect gift that didn’t scream that he had waited day before Christmas! _Shirt? No - everything he owns is bespoke; a new umbrella? No, they probably don’t keep the specially fitted model he used; cufflinks are out of question also, he’s constantly using grandfather's... Oh! Yes! That’s perfect!_ Walking with a sense of purpose, he extends his arm between two customers – one definitely gay sixty-year-old man and one woman clearly buying corporate gifts – and places his hand on his find.

 

John was following his list, not wanting to miss a thing. _This is crazy, I can’t believe I got my boss for Secret Santa!_ The man was notoriously serious, too posh for the 25-pound limit, and too secretive for anyone at the hospital to know what he did in his spare time, so he had no clue what to buy for him. _He’s_ _probably cataloging his socks or ironing his tie! Anyway, bosses shouldn't be a part of Secret Santa! It's not fair!_ A Harrods’ gift card in hand to extend the allowed budget – an unimaginative gift from his sister for his birthday – he opens the door of the prestigious shop. Surprised by the sheer number of customers he realizes that he wasn’t the only one doing last minute shopping! Looking at the floor plan, he rapidly spots the section where he was going to find something neutral enough to give to his superior.   _I can’t believe it! How is it possible to choose something when you can’t see anything!_ Pushing through the crowd, he finds a way to get close enough to one of the counters. Looking at the price tags of the elegant accessories, he shrugs at the indecency of it. _How could someone walk down the street in a 75-pound scarf when children can’t eat before going to school!_ Turning his eyes toward the end of the display, he finds the perfect gift! Cute but classy. Sliding his hand over the shiny mahogany, he catches his treasure with the tips of his fingers before pulling on it to get out of the crowded shop. But it wasn’t that easy. Tugging again he feels some resistance. Thinking that the tag or something was stuck, he grabs a bit higher, surprised when his fingers capture a hand.

“Excuses me, Sir, But this is mine.” Sherlock smiles coldly, not letting go of the marine tie.

“I was here first!” John protests, not knowing if he’s actually correct but not wanting to let it go. Turning to look at the man his words die on his lips. _Ohhhh... Hello, Mister Beautiful._

Not letting go now that the other man was silent, Sherlock properly removes the tie from the stand and was about to turn when the smaller man touches his arm. “Sorry, but where are you going? That is mine.” The doctor, back from his brief trance, wasn’t letting the man go without a fight. _At least not without his phone number! Fuck the tie!_

Raising a brow, Sherlock smirks. “You are going to fight over a tie?” In defiance, he puts down the object of their discussion on the counter between them.

Standing as tall as he was able, John smirks back. “A silk tie with little umbrellas on it, yes.”

The detective was about to reply when another hand reaches for the tie. In unison, now two against one, John and Sherlock snatch the tie back. “This is ours!”

"Yours?" The lady asks with a smile.

"It's for my brother!" Sherlock protests as John shouts "It's for my boss!"

Realizing what the taller man said, the doctor adds tentatively "... who happens to be his brother..."

Now, resolutely smirking, the woman puts down the tie and leaves, shaking her head and muttering something about 'men'.

Sherlock, unsettled for a reason unknown to him, mutters, "okay, now that's settled, I wish you a nice Christmas" takes the tie and turns on his heels (A bit sad that his coat didn't do a nice swirl because the store was too crowded.)

"Wait!" The fact that the detective actually stopped was another sign that John Watson was special. "Maybe we can ask the salesman if they have more of them somewhere?"

"You don't need me for that..."

"Maybe I wish for a bit of company while I wait?"

 

Really paying attention to the man in front of him at last, Sherlock was flooded by information. _1.69 meter, doctor, no... more surgeon, military training, used to have a psychosomatic limp, ate muffins for breakfast, blueberry, likes his tea black, Earl Grey, sentimental, has been with his girlfriend for about a year, dark brown eyes... no... dark blue, full of light but full of doubt._ As the perfection of his dilated pupils, choked breath, imposing stance registered in Sherlock mind he realized something else. Thinking about the people around them, he wasn't able to find a woman that could generate such a... _But then. Oh. OOOOOH!. It's me. Bisexual._

Breathlessly, he finally replies "Company?"

"Yes, here or somewhere else." _What are you doing, Watson, you girlfriend soon-to-be fiancée is waiting at home!_ "Fancy a coffee?"

"And the second tie?"  

"Sod the tie, I'm going to get an assortment of teas at Whittard instead." He pauses, trying to recover the little good sense that he knew was still somewhere inside him... before giving up. "So? Nero or Starbucks?"  
  
  
Waiting while the man pays for the tie, John is looking around him. Still unsure about the whole affair – coffee with a unknown gorgeous man few days before asking for his girlfriend’s hand – John is alarmed at the feeling of giddiness that is quickly spreading in his body and slightly afraid that the others shoppers were looking at him knowing that he is doing something wrong. _This is crazy! I’m only going for a coffee with an interesting person, I am allowed to talk to people! And anyway, no one is looking at me._ Not acknowledging to himself that the problem wasn’t the fact of going out for a coffee with a stranger, but the fact that the man is shaking him to the core. As the tall alien God turns to him with a questioning look, he stutters. “Sorry?”  
  
“Where do you want to go? I really don’t mind either place.” Sherlock repeats, not stating that he actually doesn’t like to repeat himself.  
  
Getting his wits together, John replies with a bit more confidence “Nero? It’s usually less crowded,” before showing the way to the exit door.  
  
The temperature is perfect, a light snow, no hard wind, minus 5... Turning on the left on Brompton Road, the café is only a corner away on the other side of the street. The congested sidewalk didn’t allow them to talk on the few minutes’ walk, giving John the time to be calmer!

 

The place isn’t full and a few places are still available.  
  
“Grab a place, would you? I’m going to take care of the drinks. What do you want?” He turns to look at the board, lost between all the options. “I think I’m going to go with a large latte... I drank enough regular coffee and tea all day long! Maybe even one with Seasonal Spices, whatever it may be.”  
  
Sherlock smiles at the doctor’s dumbfounded look “The same then, but with almond milk, thanks!” Turning around – with a distinctive twirl of his coat this time! – the detective spots a table in a somewhat more tranquil space. He knows he is voluntarily avoiding the window, but he isn’t inclined to have Mycroft putting his nose in his business. _Whatever business this ‘thing’ is really. Even if it’s obviously nothing of importance. But, having some kind of friend could be... nice._  
  
He was getting out of his coat, stretching his arm to put it on a nearby peg, when John came back with the order. The small talk he has prepared while waiting (funny clever thoughts about what was actually ‘seasonal’ in the spices) disappears in a flash at the vision in front of him. If the man was sublime in his great posh wool coat, the vision of his slight body clad in a perfectly fitted suit is... sublime. _Sarah. Sarah. Sarah._  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
The deep voice brings the doctor back to the present and to the two real coffees in his hand. Placing them on the small table, he removes his coat as well, urging his body to stay calm! _I am not a 14-year old at a party! I’ve been to war! Get a grip, Watson!_ Realizing that he hasn’t yet replied, he sits and murmurs, “sorry, I have a lot on my mind at the moment and sometimes… it’s all too much.”  
  
“Being a doctor is certainly hard work, especially in ICU, even if it’s certainly less stressful than the army.” Sipping his coffee with a satisfied sigh he continues, without noting John’s astonished face. “Thanks for the coffee. It’s a bit garish with the artificial flavoring but the rush of sugar is what I needed right now.”  
  
“What did you just say?”  
  
“That’s the coffee is agreeable even if it’s overly sweet.” Sherlock repeats patiently. He frowns before taking another sip. _God, this is tedious._  
  
“No, no, not that, what you said before -.” Taking his first sip of the hot coffee – the git is right, this is oversweet! – he looks at the man before him. “Do I know you?”  
  
“No, I don’t.” He waves a hand casually in the doctor’s direction, and explains more patiently than usual. “I deduced you, I can’t stop myself from doing it, sorry. Your life, your work, is written all over you.” A bit worried, he pauses, waiting for John to say something.  
  
“How is it possible, how could you...” John is still gobsmacked.

 

He remains enthralled by the voice of the crazy man who starts explaining how he had spotted his security card, how his whole demeanor screamed military, how he is clearly in a committed confirmed relationship with a woman – he shivered at that one – and that he had recovered from a terrible wound to his left shoulder and a psychosomatic limp.

“But, but, this is... this is brilliant.”  
  
“Brilliant,” Sherlock looks amused. “That’s not what people say usually.”  
  
“No?” _How is it possible for people to say anything else!_ “What do they say?”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
Laughing, John shakes his head at the stupidity of human beings in general, “No, what you did is utterly brilliant.” Suddenly, he stops and scowls. “It’s kind of late, but my name is John. And yours?... I know nothing about you!”  
  
“Are you sure?” Sherlock slowly finishes the coffee, a small grimace appears on his face as he swallows the last dregs. “You should already know things...” He smirks, looking at the other man expectantly and voluntarily staying silent on his name.  
  
“No! I don’t...” At the beautiful man’s severe glare, he closes his eyes a minute, trying to put his thoughts together. “Hum... I know that you are tall, thin, fit,” he feels his cheeks turning pink, unable to stop it! “You are really observant. So you might be a therapist, cop or spy!” He chuckles before opening his eyes. “So, am I right, are you a spy?” He deadpans as Sherlock smirks at him “No? Okay... Too bad, you’ve got a bit of a James Bond vibe. So… something that I know. What I know is that you can’t be a cop; no cop has the kind of money you need to buy that posh clothes... You chose almond milk. You’re a vegetarian? Almond lover? Lacto-intolerant?”  
  
“I’m vegan,” Sherlock replies, not knowing why he divulges the fact that was usually unknown except to his family, “And a cop may have won the lottery or regularly accept bribes...” he jokes.  
  
“No, you have certainly been to public school and university... you can’t be a mere cop.” As the line for the coffee is becoming longer, John asks suddenly, “Do you want to walk a bit... it’s quite stuffy in here and people are waiting for our table.”  
  
Before thinking too much about the implication, Sherlock eagerly rises from his chair, and grabs his coat. “Why not.”  
  
“Hyde Park?” John proposes.  
  
“Perfect!” 


	2. December 23, 2010 - part 2

A few minutes later, as they are walking down a more tranquil street in the direction of Hyde Park, John asks one more question, “you are clearly avoiding telling me your name, you know. I’m not stupid.”  
  
“Maybe it’s because I’m a spy...” Sherlock chuckles, satisfied like he hasn’t been in years. Knowing that it was inevitable, he sighs before giving his first name. “It’s William.”  
  
Stopping his stride, John murmurs, looking at the man at his side and extending his hand “Nice to meet you, William.”  
  
Engulfing the smaller hand in his, Sherlock murmurs, “likewise, John.” Time seems to stand still for many seconds, as they silently exchange the words that Sherlock is afraid to say, that John is ashamed to feel. “Albert Gate?” The detective finally mumbles as the door to the park was only a few meters away.  
  
Nodding, the doctor resumes walking, hands now in his pocket to avoid any temptation to take the other man’s hand in his. Looking for a ‘safe’ subject, he chides playfully, “so, a tie with umbrellas on it! Who deserves something so beautiful? Is it really your brother?”  
  
“Yes, my brother. My mother insists on that ‘gift giving thing’ at Christmas.” Thinking about the CCTV he knows is already tracking him, Sherlock smirks. _And now Mycroft is going to know his gift! Too bad, it’s his fault! The sneaky bastard!_  
  
“Gifts thing!” John protests, “Christmas is ALL about giving thoughtful gifts to your loved ones, you can’t be that astonished that your mum wants you to get something for your brother! I’m sure he's going to get you something great!”  
  
“I don’t really like getting presents...” Sherlock replies with little conviction.  
  
“I know that I would love to be able to give you a present for Christmas,” John replies softly, his heart beating a bit too fast for the light walk they were doing. Spotting fairy lights and music a bit further, he changes the subject as he didn’t want the man to read something in what he has just said.“Look, William! The ice rink!”  
  
“Let’s go the other way, it’s going to be full of people and...”  
  
“No, look, it’s not that bad!” He turns to look at the tall man, excitement in his eyes. “I haven’t skated in ages! Come on! It’s going to be fun.”  
  
“But... rented skates... disgusting .”  
  
“Don’t be a snobbish spoil sport!”  
  
The happiness in John’s eyes, the merriment in his stature – he is nearly jumping up and down – did it... “Okay, but if they change the music for some popular romantic drivel, we are leaving.”  
  
“Fine!” Forgetting his natural reserve, John finally pulls on Sherlock’s hand and they nearly run to the ticket booth.  
  


  
They were lucky enough that a few places are available for the last session of the night and that skates in the right size and in a good enough condition for Sherlock’s rigorous analysis were available.  Even if he is looking a bit disgruntled.  
  
“What’s wrong?” John asks, as they were putting on their skates. “You don’t like the color?” In fact, the bold blue was a bit childish, but it wasn’t enough to deter John’s happiness.  
  
“They are bloody hockey skates...” The brunet mutters, while tying his laces.  
  
“They are ordinary skates, I don’t know what you –” The doctor suddenly understands! “You mean they’re not ‘girls’’ skates with that pointy thing at the end!”  
  
“THEY ARE NOT FOR GIRLS!” Sherlock objects forcefully as he suddenly stands tall on his skate. “It’s for figure skating, not all boys wish to play something as barbaric as ice-hockey.”  
  
“Hey, sorry, William... I wasn’t making fun of you.” Looking up at the man who is now even taller with the skates on – _as if he wasn’t already too tall for me, not that it is of any importance_ – John smiles sincerely, not wanting his blunder to spoil the perfect non-date they were having. “That means you’re going to be able to help me, I skated only a few times when I was young.”  
  
“We can try, but it’s going to be weird.” Sherlock sighs, looking at his feet in annoyance. _A disaster, I seriously hope that Mycroft gives me a break tonight._ .. But the contrite but hopeful look on John’s beautiful face, pushes aside all doubt or worry about giving some blackmailing ammunition to his brother. “Come on, our session begins in a minute.”  
  
  
  
The detective feels horrible for the first 10 minutes. To John amusement, he was constantly forgetting that the skates didn’t have the toe pick his own skates had and fell a few times. Finally getting the hang of it, he quickly retrieves his balance and starts having fun, to the doctor’s surprise.

“How could you be that good in ten minutes?” He was still skating very slowly, afraid of hurting himself, but ecstatic from having Sherlock happily turning around him. _God, he’s beautiful!_ His dramatic black coat was flowing around him, his blue scarf was bringing out the red on his cheeks, his lustrous chocolate curls were catching the light of the thousand little fairy lights. “One day, I want to see what you can do with your own skates!”  
  
“Maybe, John, who knows...” Slowing his strikes, he stays close to John. The sight of many couples holding hands, laughing while helping each other to skate, kissing under the lights... All this was doing things to his mind. He knows that John has a girlfriend, he didn’t confirm it, but he knows it! _Why does he remain silent about her?_ The detective considers, looking sideways at John. _Does he want something more with me? Or not? Something serious, or just a bit of fun before he settles down. I don’t understand._  
  
“William!” A voice was talking near him. “William! Where are you!”  
  
_Oh yes, William..._ “Yes?”  
  
They were nearly alone now, as most of the people were going back to the exit now that the ice rink was nearing closing time. “Thank you, for the most brilliant time I had in a long time,” John murmurs, looking for words. “All this... all this can’t have happened for nothing.”  
  
“All this?” Sherlock asks, frowning, as the lights start shutting down.  
  
“Yes, meeting in Harrods, what were the odds?” He smiles looking at the snow that was getting heavier “You agreeing to go for a coffee, the skating... The perfect weather.”  
  
Smiling as well, Sherlock reacts honestly. “Yes, this was a nice coincidence.”  
  
“No, not a coincidence. It’s destiny!”  
  
Chuckling, his scientific mind rebelling at the idea, the detective protests. “There’s no such thing as –”  
  
“Don’t say that. I may be days away from making the best or the worst decision of my life. And I meet you. This is fate!” He places his hand in Sherlock’s, and whispers, “this is a sign!”  
  
Stunned by the conviction in the doctor’s eyes, Sherlock is still searching for something to say when a voice coming from the speaker breaks the spell.  
  
“Hey, lovebirds, time’s up. We’re closing.”  
  
  
  
They skate slowly and a bit lost, towards the exit. Give their skates back and leave. In silence. Until John was unable to stay silent anymore! Not when so much was at stake!  
  
“William... Please, I need to see you again.” His voice is steady, but with an edge of despair.  
  
Sherlock, unsettled by this man who so clearly is interested in him and by his own rare feelings murmurs “Is it that important?”  
  
“Yes,” he waits a second before repeating, “fate.”  
  
“John, you’re a doctor, a man of science, don’t be silly –” John is about to protest one more time when his phone rings. Groaning at the interruption, he took the phone from his pocket to silence it, a name and the picture of a woman appears on the screen.  
  
_Sarah._  
  
Eyeing the screen, a heaviness drops in Sherlock’s stomach, _it’s her_. A sad smile on his wonderful lips, he points at the still ringing phone. “That. _That_ is a sign John. I wish you a happy life.” Turning away without letting the doctor a second to reply, he rushes out of the park.

Leaving John alone.

Not knowing what to do, whether to run after the man or go back home, he was unable to move until the voice of the employee cuts through his melancholic state. “Are you alright mate? A bit of a tiff with your man? Don’t worry, Christmas time is hard!”  


“Yeah,” John sighs, “I know…” before walking slowly in direction of the Tube station. He is about to walwalk through the park’s gate when the cold made him shiver. _My scarf… I left it on the bench._ Turning on his heel, he walks back to the ice rink. Wishing that the guy hadn’t left.

  


_This is crazy!_ Unable to stop thinking about the blond man, Sherlock is walking energetically and was only a few streets away from Baker Street, when his phone buzzes. It is a text from his brother.

> Sentiment, brother mine? MH

Sending off a quick ‘piss off’ to Mycroft, Sherlock suddenly realizes something. _Oh, bugger, the bloody tie!_ Rushing back to the ice rink, he hopes that someone will still be there to open the door of the locker room. But when he finally arrive, a bit out of breath because of the running, all the light were switched off. Shaking his head in defeat, he swears. _This day is crazy!_

“Serendipity.”

Turning quickly at John’s voice, Sherlock stutters as the doctor get out of the dark to walk under a lampost, holding a little Harrods’ bag. “What?”

“Serendipity. You can’t deny it now, can you?” John smile is soft and warm. “It means, finding something when looking for something else. As if the path was already laid out for you… That it was inevitable. You forgot your bag, I forgot my scarf, it’s --”

“It merely means that we were rushed by the staff.” Sherlock extends his hand to take the bag. “Nothing more.”

“William…” John says again, looking into Sherlock’s eyes, “give me your number, please. I want to see you again.”

The voice of his brother was resonating in the detective’s mind. His own self-depreciation doing the rest. _Caring is not an advantage. Anyway, how could it be possible for someone to really want to know me? I’m a freak, I don’t have… relationships._ Barely listening to the other man pleading about karma, fate and destiny he suddenly snaps “Okay, let say it’s fate…” He grabs two fivers from his wallet and gives one to John. “Write down your name and phone number and I’ll do the same on this one.” Happy that he has won and not thinking that it’s weird to use money as if it were a post-it, John complies and give the bank note back to the other man, expecting him to do the same. “Okay, wait a minute.”

At John’s surprise, ‘William’ runs quickly to a little kiosk that was about to closed and talks to the seller before coming back fea w minutes later with a fresh pack of cigarettes. Frowning as any doctor should, he wasn’t able to stop his comment “These are going to kill you, you know!” Softening his words by adding, “can you gives me your number now that you have mine?”

“I don’t have it, not anymore.” Sherlock smirks smugly.

“What!” Turning towards the kiosk which was now closed, he shouts, “you used them! How could you… it’s madness!”

“No, if it’s meant to be, we are going to stumble upon them one day, isn’t? If I am following your logic correctly, of course.” Lighting his cigarette, his smile drops as he mutters, “serendipity.”  Leaving an astonished and an infuriated John behind, he returns to the entrance of the park and walks out without a second glance behind him.


	3. December 24, 2010

“Darling, are you alright?” Sarah asks, hugging her boyfriend from behind. “You are acting really weird... And you moved a lot last night, is it your nightmare?”

“No, no, everything is fine. I don’t know why I was restless.” A comforting hand on his girlfriend’s arm, he continues, “I’ve got to get ready, a bit of a bummer to work on Christmas Eve and I need to go to the store for my boss’s gift.”

“That’s not all... I know you’re hiding something,” she jokes, shaking a manicured finger in John’s direction.

Blushing, skipping a few buttons on his shirt because his hands were shaking too much, John lies, “I have nothing to hide, you know... I don’t know what you are talking about.” _Except that I met someone yesterday, who I think that I fell in love with, that I think that I can’t stand being in this relationship anymore._

“I’m talking about my Christmas gift, you idiot! You shop  till late yesterday, but I saw nothing new in the flat...” Smiling at the man’s confusion, Sarah slowly rebuttons his shirt correctly and kisses him softly. “You’re a lucky man, you know!”

Looking at the woman with whom he has shared his life for nearly a year now; someone at work set them up on Valentine’s Day; he regretfully pushes away the time he passed with William the day before. The guilt of having strong feelings for a man he barely knows when the perfect woman was in front of him was horrible. _The perfect boring, safe and vanilla woman_ , his mind supplies. “Yes, I know.” His smile didn’t light up his eyes. “Sometimes I think I don’t deserve you...” Taking up his coat, he rushes out to go to work after placing an indifferent kiss on her cheek.

 

Sherlock is looking outside, certainly not thinking about a strangely interesting ex-army doctor, when a loud laugh stops his woolgathering. He quickly turns away from the window to frown at his landlady. "Don't you have better things to do than coming up here to... shriek?"

"It's just that I called for you many times, but you were so lost in your thoughts!" She smiles, looking at her favourite - in fact, only- tenant. "Are you still going to your parents' house tonight, Sherlock? You know that I'm going to my sister’s and I won't be here --"

"Yes, yes, don't worry. I won't be alone for Christmas," he retorts before rolling his eyes "as if being with Mycroft is better than to be alone, and the idea that --"

"The sentiment is obviously shared, brother mine." The cold voice of the government man suddenly stops the younger man’s lamentations. "but you know how Mummy likes her little family gatherings."

"MYCROFT!" Ms. Hudson promptly scuttles away at Sherlock shout "What are you doing here! It's way too early! You were supposed to send a car for 15H30!"

Not acknowledging his brother's tantrum, Mycroft looks warmly at the old woman. "I have a little something for you, Ms. Hudson! You deserve it for your courage and abnegation!"

Chuckling, the landlady protests a bit before taking the envelope and kissing Holmes on the cheek while Sherlock shudders in disgust. "Your brother is not that bad! It's just that sometimes it's too much for his poor head!" Walking back to the detective she kisses him as well before going back to her apartment to take care of her luggage.

"Be careful with her, Sherlock, you won't be able to find such a pearl anywhere else!" Surveying the state of the flat, he raises a brow before sitting carefully in the plaid chair. "And you'll never get a flatmate if you keep the flat in this state, you know."

"I don't need a flatmate..." The younger man mutters. Realizing that his brother won't go away, he shrugs his shoulders and adds, "tea?"

"Of course, thank you. So civil of you to ask."

The room remains silent for a few minutes, while Sherlock fixes the tea. Once the sulking man is drinking a nice cup of tea in his chair, he finally asks. " _Why_ are you here, Mycroft?"

"I wanted to wish Ms. Hudson a Merry --"

"You could have sent a courier with her gift, try again."

With a shrug, Mycroft says, "I needed to be sure that you're going to be ready --"

"Four hours in advance? You could have texted." He stops talking. Waiting for his brother to finally say why he was in Baker Street at 10 in the morning... _It’s about yesterday, I know, that text he sent me, he was definitely checking on me!_

He was silently reciting _pi_ when the sound of someone delicately clearing his voice echoes in the flat. "Sherlock..."

 _Here it is._ "What?"

"It's not that I am spying on people or anything --" the sarcastic chuckle of his brother only made his tone more resolute, "but yesterday, something strange happened."

Mildly interested, maybe Mycroft was rambling on about a case finally, Sherlock asks lightly as if he wasn't in fact deadly curious "Strange?"

"Yes, quite curious." He smirks, looking at his brother over his cup. "Can you imagine that, my brother, a resolute bachelor, a self-proclaimed 'married to his work' man, who hasn't had a real friend since his childhood, spent five hours yesterday with someone new," he smiles, like a cat in front of a mouse and adds, "I might say, voluntarily."

"Oh! Don't be silly! It's nothing, I talk to people all the time!” To his dismay, a nice warmth was starting to spread over his cheeks, _no, not now!_

“Someone who isn’t involved in a case, ordering something at a restaurant, or Ms. Hudson.” Mycroft specifies, putting his cup down on the coffee table.

“As if you were a specialist of... things like that.” He pauses, realizing that he has said too much. “Not that _anything_ happened.”

“You’re right, I am not a specialist in... such things.” The older Holmes nods, giving the point to his brother, “but I often think that it was wrong for me to try to mold you as I was thinking at that time.”

“At that time?” Sherlock asks. “You don’t think anymore that sentiment is a defect found on the losing side?” The catchy sentence, often repeated, sounds so wrong now in both brothers’ ears.

“I was young at that time, you were an impressionable adolescent yourself... I shouldn’t have pushed that on you. You, you were totally entitled to cry and rage after Redbeard death. It was cruel of me to say otherwise.”

Looking at his brother as if he was a stranger, Sherlock pushes away the feeling of loss talking of Redbeard still creates and questions with a grin. “What has changed?”

“What?” Suddenly turning crimson, Mycroft waves a hand dismissively “We were talking about you!”

“No, **you** are talking about me, I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Are you sure?” The elder Holmes asks softly, a tone that few have heard. “I can help you if you –"

“No, I don’t need help.” Putting down his cup, Sherlock steps out of his chair in a flourish and walks to his bedroom. “Goodbye Mycroft, send the car at 15H30!”

 

John was a bit away from the cheering crowd, it was the Christmas little party at the hospital when a heavy hand drops on his shoulder. “John!”

Smiling at the grinning man, John quickly engulfs him in a hug “Hey! Mike, how are you, mate, happy holidays!” Stamford was one of the few people John could count as friends. _That day when I met him in the park was a miracle!_ Talking with him about the old times, the war, the hardship of getting his life back... that was the first step to getting better. And after that, helping him to get a job at Bart’s.

“A bit shitty to work on the 24th, with the kids and everything, but I’m going to be at home on time if nothing too strange happens!” He points to the coffee table. “I’m just here for the fresh coffee and a few minutes break.”

“Yeah, me too.” John turns to check the time. “Still three hours before the end of my shift. I think I’m going to go for that coffee also!”

Once both have a coffee in hand, and a bit off to the side of the rest of the celebrating staff, Mike points at the Secret Santa’s gift table. “Have you bought what you wanted?”

John shrugs. “No, only an assortment of tea.”

“Told you that it was going to be madness in Harrods on the 23rd!” Mike chuckles, shaking his head at his friend’s obliviousness. As the doctor mutters unintelligibly, he smiles. “What did you say?”

“The problem wasn’t the crowd.” _It was one man in the bloody crowd!_ As Stamford crosses his arms, clearly waiting for an epic story, John gives up and tells him everything....

“So, that’s all. He turns and disappears in the night and I’m never going to be able to find him...”

“Maybe that vendor guy still has the money!” Mike – over the moon as he never really liked Sarah – suggests.

“Went there this morning on my way to work... and he drops everything at the bank every night.”

“But, this is silly! Something can be done, I’m sure! We are in the Age of the Internet!” Frowning a bit, he looks at John seriously. “Are you still planning to propose to Sarah on New Year’s Eve?”

“God, I don’t know anymore... I am a horrible man!” _She helped me so much when I came back, she nurtured me back to my old self, I can’t do that to her!_

“You are a horrible man if you ask her to marry you when you aren’t 100% certain that she’s the one for you!” Putting down his (bad) coffee, he took out his phone to check his schedule. “I’m off to my parents after work for the Christmas big happening, going to sleep there... Tomorrow afternoon, is that okay? Are you free?”

Nonplussed, John replies, “Yes, I’m free. For what?”

“We are going to find your guy!”

 


	4. December 28, 2010

“You can’t give up!” Mike says, following John in the hospital corridor, not leaving the man in peace.

Tired of all this, his friend suddenly stops. “Why?”

“Why?” Stamford repeats, trying to understand John’s mood.

“Why do you care so much? Why must I keep trying?” Turning to face the other doctor, he shakes his head. “Nothing has worked! We’ve tried everything!”

Raising his shoulders in dismissal, the other man argues with a little laugh, “certainly not everything!”

Exasperated, John opens the door to an unoccupied room and pushes Stamford into it. “Mike! We tried everything in the last 48 hours!” Holding a hand up, he starts counting “First, we went back to the ice rink but the vendor of that shop deposits his money each night... Then, we went to his bank, but it was closed for Christmas... We tried a day after again, but we were nearly arrested because we were too fucking weird!” He closes his eyes a second, as if exhausted. “We went to the coffee shop... I’ve checked all the bloody five-pound notes..” Chuckling sadly, he closes his fist a few times, trying to push the anxiety that was slowly rising to the surface. “Anyway, his actions clearly showed that he wasn’t interested!” Thinking about how the man simply placed their fate in the hand of a newspapers seller, in banknotes that may be on the other side of the country by now, John reiterates in a defeated tone “It’s over. I’m going to propose to Sarah on the 31st, the ring is already at the shop for fitting and is going to be ready in time.”

As Mike appears ready to protest once more, John’s phone rings. After a brief discussion, the doctor closes the phone and turns to look at his friend, holding his phone in front of his friend’s eyes. “It was the jeweler. The ring going to be ready on the 31st and available for pick-up before lunch as the shop is closing early.  This. _This_. Is a sign. Don’t talk about this anymore, I’m over whatever folly it was!”

“Okay, okay... I won’t talk about him again,” Stamford finally surrenders. “Let’s go get a coffee before we go back to work.”

A few minutes later, as John pays for his drink, Mike spots him discreetly examining the 5-pound he receives from the cashier. _Over,_ he sneers in his head, _my ass!_

 

 

“Lestrade!” Sherlock shouts as he enters the DI’s division. His coat was billowing around him as he turns to look around. “I need a case! Anything!”

“He’s not here, Freak.” Donovan sneers, happy to annoy the man who’s wasn’t looking up to his usual standard. _Can’t remember the last time I’ve seen his that disheveled! Hope he is not back on the sauce again!_ “Go away, we are doing real work here –”

Holding his finger playfully to his chin, as he interrupts her, “remind me again please, Donovan, what real work are you talking about?” Tilting his head, he continues innocently, “the kidnapping case I solved for you a week ago or the robbery that I stopped yesterday?”

Trying to keep her calm with difficulty, the sergeant mutters thru her teeth “You fuckin’ psychopath! I don’t know what hold you’ve got on Lestrade, but if I was in charge –”

Smiling, Sherlock interrupts her abruptly. Again. “Don’t worry about that, Donovan, it’s never going to happen.”

Sally was seriously thinking about asking a few cops to show the detective out of the office when Lestrade opens the door.

“Sherlock! What are you doing here?” Turning to Sally, he frowns with a sigh, “do we have another weird case?”

“As if I was the one who asked him to come!” She hisses “The Fre... Holmes came here to talk to you, boss. Got to work, bye.” Quickly turning on her heel, she leaves before Sherlock can beginto mock her about the ‘work’ she was going to do – something about Anderson needing his floors polished or something.

“Sherlock!” Lestrade shouts, “my office, now!”

 

Once in the office, door closed, Lestrade sighs and drops into his chair tiredly before looking at the man before him. “What are you doing here? You know the drill... I call you, you can’t just... pop in!” Knowing what it was all about, Mycroft had talked of nothing but his brother’s meeting with the doctor, he adds with a twinkle in his eyes, “Scotland Yard is not a bloody coffee shop.”  As the detective eyes lock onto his, he realizes that he shouldn’t have played that card... _Shit._

“Tell me, Geof, have you talked to my brother recently?” As the DI remains silent, opening his computer and playing with his files, his shyness, the sudden redness on his cheeks as well as his nervous demeanor confirm Sherlock’s suspicions “Yes, I see. And without any important case, nothing that needs the government’s assistance.” Holding his gaze, he spreads his hands on the desk. “Furthermore, I was personally in no danger whatsoever in the last days. I even spent some so-called family time with Mycroft... So... Why on earth have you talked with my brother?”

Distractedly shoving his pen in his coffee, Greg groans and stutters out, “that is not your business, and, and, no, I haven’t see Myc --, your brother!” Smiling, Sherlock emits a non-committal groan. “And stop harassing my staff! I have nothing for you right now!”

“But George –”

“And for the last time, my bloody name is GREG!” The younger man was about to complain when Lestrade’s phone rings. “Go away! Some people have work to do today!”

 

 

Mycroft is still laughing when Anthea knocks at his office door. Smiling at the unusual sight, more common she must admit now that her boss was finally doing something about that beautiful inspector, she asks “What’s so funny, Sir? If I may ask.”

“My brother,” he points at the disgruntled silhouette of Sherlock leaving Scotland Yard. “Poor man, he’s really interested in that man he met at Harrods... but does not know what to do with the feelings.”

“Maybe you can help him, Sir, you are now well versed and expe –”

“Anthea.” Mycroft’s voice is so sharp that nothing more needed to be said. The PA slowly puts down the file she has in her hand and leaves with a knowing smirk. Keeping an eye on the CCTV screen, Holmes’ heart somersaults as Lestrade appears on the screen as a message appears on his phone.

> On my way, still available for lunch? GL

Hastily replying, the government man steps out of his office to meet his lover. _Sherlock needs to simmer a bit more, anyway he has everything he needs to find the man... if he’s too stubborn I’ll see if I can’t encourage the doctor a bit..._

 

 

John is walking out of Bart’s, looking forward to an evening with his girlfriend, or trying to convince himself of it. _I don’t understand, she’s everything that men like me dream about! I owe her so much, she brought me back to life... When I started to work with Mike, I was doing better but I was still so empty!_ The old feeling of hollowness that followed his return to England after the war washes over him. Thinking about his soon to be fiancée, a warmth pushes away the darkness inside him to replace it with peace and light. To his dismay, he realizes that if Sarah helped him going back to his rightful self, he only felt really alive one time in the last few months. _But this is madness!_

Entering a flower shop to get something nice for her, he walks around the little shop, a bit lost. He is inspecting his third ready-made bouquet, unfortunately, no bouquet was conveying the feeling of _I want or wanted to propose but I may have met the man of my life so I’m a little stuck right now_ , when the little bell at the door jingles to warn of the arrival of a new client. _One man that knows what he wants!_ John thinks as the client decisively talks to the florist. Catching the sight of the man from the corner of his eye, the doctor freezes, a few bunches of random flowers in hand. _It can’t..._ The tall man was dressed in black, a blue scarf showing off an array of black hair. John stops breathing for a second, but his mind quickly dismisses the man. _The coat is not the same, no curls, the stature... it’s not him. It’s not HIM._

Urging his lungs to work properly, he snaps as the shop owner give the flowers to the man.

“Here are you change, young man, 5 pounds, twenty p.” As the client move to let the place to John, the doctor suddenly grabs the paper note, quickly looking it over before handing it to the not-William man.

“Sorry, I needed to... Forget it, sorry.” Turning to the florist, John drops the flowers on the counter.

“Ohhhh... that’s sad.” The old man mutters.

“What?” John asks, still troubled. His eyes drop on the flowers. Yellow roses and daffodils. “Isn’t this good? The yellow of the rose is nearly the same of that little middle thing inside the daffodil.” Pointing at some premade bouquet, he adds, “just arrange them like these, with green leaves of whatever this is called, and it will be going to be nice, yeah?”

Smiling sadly, the florist took the flowers in the back store to compose the bouquet. Thinking about how lost the client looked when he was choosing the flowers and his strange reaction in front of the other client. With a sigh, he cuts the stems and starts building the bouquet. _Yes, a really unhappy mix._ On the spur of the moment, he quickly adds a few gardenias in the middle. _That’s better!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As per Wikipedia:
> 
> Daffodil: Uncertainty, chivalry, respect or unrequited love, return my affection; new beginnings
> 
> Yellow rose: Friendship, jealousy, infidelity, apology, a broken heart, intense emotion, undying love, extreme betrayal
> 
> Gardenia: Secret love, joy, sweet love, good luck
> 
> Poor John indeed!


	5. December 29, 2010

"You’ve done what??" Greg puts down his coffee on the kitchen table, and his jaw drops before he can speak, "and why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday? This is BRILLIANT!" Unable to stop grinning at the thought of playing with Sherlock a bit, he looks over the table with a big smile; Mycroft, the wonderful and not so surprisingly passionate man he hopes to be able to openly call ‘boyfriend’ one day.

"We were occupied by... something else yesterday if I remember correctly,"  Holmes replies with a smug smirk. "A bit more coffee, Gregory?"

Laughing, the DI pulls his mug away from his lover."Forget the coffee My'! I need more info, I need to know everything! Gimme!”

"Nothing more to say, really. One member of my team, who is of similar height and stature of my brother, followed Doctor Watson when he left the hospital and wait for an opportune moment to interact with him." As he was back to the countertop, taking care of the toast, he didn't see the admiring glances Greg is giving him. "The flower shop was a perfect place and it went as well as I could hope."

Shaking his head, as he is (a little bit) uncomfortable about interfering with Sherlock's possible love life, he murmurs lovingly, "you know that you are a genius!"

"Maybe..." Mycroft cheeks turn pink. "But one thing is certain, the good doctor isn't that sure about his imminent proposal.” He is pretty satisfied with himself, humming as he spreads jam on the toast. “Without a doubt, his night has not been peaceful!”

"And now?" Greg frowns, knowing that Watson was supposed to pick the ring on the 31st - _God only knows how Mycroft found out about this!_ \- he wasn't sure what they should do next.

"If Sherlock does not act on his infatuation, we're going to be sure that the doctor will nudge him in the right direction." His tone was assertive. "I've never seen my brother act like that, he's going to have to open his eyes himself or we are going to help him!"

Getting up to stand near the government un-official he murmurs in his ear, "you are a romantic, darling, who would have thought?" Before stealing a kiss that quickly turns more heated as the breakfast remains untouched.

  
  


Sherlock is still in his bed, his eyes watching a little crack above his head. _That crack is a bit worse now that it's colder outside. Is it because of the weather or because of the central heating? Maybe I could measure it to follow the progression in the next months?_ Closing his eyes a second, he reflects on the thought that one’s life is a bit sad when you are seriously thinking about a crack on the ceiling. _Maybe it's because I am alone?_ Sherlock opens his eyes quickly, his heart skipping a few beats. _Am I sick or something? Who cares if I am alone, alone is better than being surrounded by idiots._ Suddenly tired of being in bed, he sits up, throws his legs over the side of the bed and presses his feet onto the cold floor. _I must talk to Ms. Hudson about the heating, the flat is cold, the floor is cold, my bed is cold._ Without his consent, an idea springs in his still sleepy head. _The bed wouldn't be so cold if I wasn't alone in it_. The image of the luminous, sturdily made doctor that his mind instantly supplies brings a warmth that wasn't caused by the ancient radiator.

Stifling a groan, he drops back in bed, cursing his rebellious mind that was sending image after image of his encounter with the man. His sincere admiration when he deduced him; the glimpse of desire he caught when they first made eye contact or when he removed his coat in the coffee shop; the doctor’s instinct to act, when action is required – legacy of his army days - hidden under the soft sweater; the ease of their conversation; the nice rhythm of their stroll when they walked together; John's dark blue eyes, sparkling in the fairy lights at the ice rink; the hope that sparked in Sherlock’s chest simply because of his words: fate, destiny, serendipity... And, at last, the sadness when he left him alone... _I've never been so at ease with anybody. But it's impossible, I am not boyfriend material... and he's got a girlfriend._

He sighs sadly, thinking how great it would be if life was different when a joyful (but a bit annoying) 'wouhou' resonates in the flat, echoing the noises from the hustle and bustle from the outside world. _Great, something to stop this useless daydreaming!_ "Here, Ms. Hudson!"

The little racket of someone who's putting things away continues until he hears a little knock at his bedroom door "Sherlock! Are you decent?"

"Always, Ms. Hudson," Sherlock replies with a chuckle, wrapping himself in his sheet and pushing his reminiscence of John away. "Come in, what can I do for you?"

"Nothing, nothing!" She smiles at his still flustered look and winks. "But I can leave you alone if you were... otherwise occupied, I can come back later!"  Jumping out of the bed, he beelines to the bathroom muttering something about tea and annoying old women. "I can hear you, young man!, be nice if you want your tea! I've brought you fresh scones as well!"

 

A few minutes later, dressed in his nightgown and teeth freshly washed, he kisses his old friend on the cheek. Fussing over the tea, she smiles fondly. “You know, you do not need to be so agitated, masturbation is totally normal and –"

“MS HUDSON!” the detective interrupts loudly, “stop at once!”

“You shouldn’t be ashamed,” the old lady – not realizing how uneasy Sherlock was – continues “as I said it’s totally normal for anyone to –"

With false bravado, Sherlock raises his hand trying to change the subject “You know that I'm not... like that. What are you planning to do for dinner? That stew you did a few weeks ago was wonderful!"

Not taking the bait, she points out the scones that she left on the coffee table, smiling when the detective sneakily takes two before dropping onto his chair. Martha’s eyes fell on her young friend, the man she owes so much to, unable to let go of the conversation. _Something changed recently, he’s got a constant look of longing... Has he met someone? Oh, I wish so much for it to be true!_ "Like what, Sherlock, human? You know, even someone as old as me still have an earthy appetite for these things and –”

Sherlock’s purgatory suddenly ends when his phone pings. “A text, Lestrade, sorry, go to go!” before heading for his bedroom to get dressed as the old lady shouts that if he found someone, he could take all his chemistry equipment and put it in the bedroom upstairs before leaving the flat to go back on the first floor.  Sherlock silently groans, trying to pull on his trousers without imagining the doctor in Baker Street. _God, she’s a menace!_ John in the living room, reading a medical journal and talking about his day. _Worse than Mummy!_  John in the kitchen, preparing a meal and trying to do something with tofu. _They probably calling each other once a week to talk about me!_ John in his bedroom, waiting for him at the end of the day, gloriously naked.

His shaking fingers uncooperatively working to close his shirt, he summons the last bit of control he knows he has somewhere – _I must have some bloody control left somewhere!_ – to finish dressing before rushing to the crime scene. Closing the door on an imaginary life with an imaginary man.

 

 

Alone in the bathroom, John is avoiding his face in the mirror. _Hard to do when you’re getting ready for work._

The conversation he had the night before when he arrived home is still ringing in his ears. _All that because of bloody flowers! As if a man couldn’t bring flowers to his girlfriend without any reasons!_ Sarah’s cold shoulder when he entered the flat wasn’t expected at all! _To think that she accused me of cheating on her! As if..._ Still evading his own eyes, he finally has done everything except shave, he gathers his razor and shaving cream, breathing in one last time before lifting his head. His darkened sunken eyes testimony of his disturbed night.

The fifth in a row.

 _Liar._ His eyes are silently screaming. _You are lying to her._ His hands, heavier and harder than usual, rush and botch the job, leaving a few nicks. _You are lying to yourself._ Without replying to his own thoughts, he removes the remaining shaving cream with a hand towel, his mind going blank as he spots blood on the towel. The contrast of the dark smudge against the snow-white fluffy cloth echoing his life, even if it wasn’t an actual wound. _As if all the actions, the danger, the life or death decision making that I love, that are ME are blended and absorbed by a flavorless, comfortable life._ Looking defiantly at his face, that constant, benevolent façade he has built over the last year, he blinks as a few cuts still bleed on his cheeks.

“Darling?” Sarah was trying to open the door, calling him sweetly. “Have you finished, I need the bathroom? John?” As he continues to stay silent, dabbing the last drop of blood on his face, she knocks softly. “I’m sorry for yesterday you know... I shouldn’t have doubted you, of course, you don’t need a reason to give me flowers.” John quietly puts his shirt on and slips into his trousers. “It’s just that you’ve been distant in the last few days... so I don’t know what to think.” Jumping as John opens the door without warning, she softly places her hand on his “Are we good? Are you still mad with me?”   

Not knowing what to say, John walks without a word to the kitchen as Sarah closes the bathroom’s door.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The recipe for that wonderful stew Sherlock is talking about https://www.isachandra.com/2010/12/rustic-winter-stew-with-polenta/ it's really really good!
> 
> If someone wants the recipe for the perfect vegan scones, let me know :-)


	6. December 30, 2010

It is all there in front of him.  _ Doctor John H. Watson, Bart’s and before that Captain in the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers, wounded in combat, returned a year and an half ago, a therapist, difficulties to get back to civil life until his friend Mike Stamford helped him to get a job. And,  _ it is all there in a few images _ , meeting that woman, Sarah. Sarah who gives him stability, peace.  _ Sherlock was looking at his computer, after days of bad or no sleep and the feeling of John’s constant presence in his Mind Palace he finally gave up and began to analyze the information he had and is able to find the man in less than five minutes.

_ Not even a challenge, the real trial was to stop me from doing it! _

A doctor, named John, Bart’s and a military record, it was really too easy to find him.  _ And too easy to find her. _

The last piece of the puzzle is glowing on the screen.

An entry on a credit card statement at a jewelry store on Victoria Street.  _ Generic style, no fuss ring _ ,  _ reasonable... Boring. _ Sherlock was unable to link together the idea of the energetic, funny, solid man he had met not a week ago who left such a  strong impression on him and that unimpressive, rather common piece of jewelry. He is about to scream at the inanity of all this when his phone pings. Rolling his eyes, he replies boisterously, “WHAT!”

“Sherlock...” it was Mycroft, of course. “Don’t be an idiot. Do something! ANYTHING! That hideous ring isn’t a proof of any commitment and I know that –”

“Don’t be so superficial, brother, it’s the feeling behind it that’s important.” Sherlock automatically protests, unable to accept that  _ his _ John’s desire was criticized by his older sibling.

“I think, and you know, that the feeling behind the purchase is as bland and innocuous as the ring itself” Mycroft murmurs, “Sherlock, don’t be an idiot, the man doesn’t want to marry that woman. She may be  _ adequate _ but --”

“I’ve just heard John’s conversation with the jeweler that stated just the opposite.” Holding his breath to stay calm, he waits a few seconds before speaking again. “Stop messing with my life.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft tries another once more, but too late. The detective has already ended the call.

 

Stunned, Sherlock looks at his computer, closing the tab one by one. Gone is the alcoholic sister, the father, prone to violence, the excellent grades, the journey of a lower-class boy to get a stellar education, the hard work, the sacrifice of years of his life to the army to be able to become a surgeon only to have his lifelong dream snatched from his trembling hands.  _ Working with civilians, even in an ICU, must be so dull after the war! A bit better than locum work in a surgery but not by much!  _ And yet the man isn’t bitter, isn’t defeated. His energy barely muffled under his wool jumper.

Closing his eyes before falling onto the sofa, the young man beams as he remembers fondly their moment at the ice rink.

> “William, you can’t push directly with your toes! Glide a bit, as if you were skiing.” The doctor, for the third time since they jumped on the ice a few minutes earlier is helping him to stand. Without gloves, he is able to feel the warmth of his hands, every callus, every little scar. The calluses caused by his work as well as the repeated weapon use. The duality is intriguing, driving Sherlock crazy. The idea that the man had the skills to heal and to kill.
> 
> “I would probably be more receptive to your opinions if you weren’t laughing at me as you give them!” The tall man moans as he finally stands again on his skates before he brags aloud, “give me a few minutes and I’m going to be better than everyone here.”
> 
> “You really think so?” John challenges him, looking at the crowd around them. “Many of the skaters are really good!”
> 
> “It’s basic physics, mathematics and kinesiology, John.”  _ Good, my coat is still in one piece. _ “Precise movements and calculations of the expected direction are the only thing needed to be able to successively skate, even with these awful barbaric and inelegant skates!”
> 
> Smiling at the genius at his side, the doctor is unable to restrain a joyful chuckle. “And physics?”
> 
> “Easy, it’s for –” unable to stop himself, the detective falls once more on the hard ice. “Shit!”
> 
> Extending a hand – again! – John was now openly laughing. “I got it! Physics is for Newton's law of universal gravitation!”
> 
> “Funny, John, really funny.” Feeling the back of his head he groans a bit as he remains on the ice looking at the man above him. He was wonderful, brilliant, his hair shimmering because of the thousands of fairy lights that surround them. His stance, a bit formal to be able to stand on his skates – it’s been years since the last time he skated – is echoing years of army training. The attraction and hope in his eyes is mesmerizing the detective,unused to be under that kind of scrutiny. Heart beating fast,  _ what’s going on?, _ Sherlock felt vulnerable for the first time in years. Falling quick and hard for a man he didn’t know three hours ago. Unable to remain silent, he mumbles, “even if Plushenko has more medals, I prefer Orser’s style.”
> 
> “Orser?” John asks with merriment, helping Sherlock to his feet (again).
> 
> “Yes, Brian Orser. Canadian, Two time silver medalist at the Olympics, four silver medals, two golds at the World Championships.” As John was still smiling indulgently, he continues, “a bit short, 1 meter 70 centimeters, but it’s fine.”
> 
> Lifting his chin and grins, thinking of his own 1,69. “It’s certainly perfect.” If Sherlock realizes that he was still holding his hand, he says nothing.
> 
> “Yes...” his skating partner murmurs, “it’s perfect.” He was about to say something else, to do something else when the music turns more up-beat, creating an unwanted noisy audience around them.
> 
> Turning his gaze with difficulty, John licks his lips longingly and motions in direction of the flow. “Better to skate or they’re going to run us over! Are you okay?”
> 
> “Yes, I think I’ve got the hang of it now, kinesiology John!” With a smirk he lets go of John’s hand and passes him easily, showing off that, yes, he finally understands how the dreaded hockey skates work!

He is still lost in his mind, smiling at the sweet memory, when a small hand pressing on his shoulder brings him back to Baker Street.

 

Frowning, Sherlock surveys the impeccably dressed woman in front of him, standing next to  the sofa. “What are you doing here Anthea?”

“Ms Hudson opened the door for me,” pointing to the nearby coffee table, she smiles. “Mr Holmes forgot one of your gift last Christmas, he was feeling so desolate about it that –”

“Anthea...” Sherlock chides his brother’s PA, not believing a word.

“Really, he was deeply –”

“We are speaking of Mycroft here...”

“Okay, he was angry at me because I forgot to put it in the car when you went to your parents’ house,” the woman lies, looking down at her perfectly manicured hands.

“That's more believable,” Sherlock chuckles, shaking his head as he analyses the nicely wrapped box “what is it?”

“I have no idea!” Taking her coat, she turns on her 10 centimeter heels and walks to the door. “By the way, he’s not going to admit it, but he really liked the umbrella tie. Good day, Sir.”

Rising from the sofa, Sherlock carefully unties the ribbon before he unwraps the medium size package. Tears build in his eyes as he opens the box as hundreds of memories flash through his mind.  _ Mycroft! You bastard! _


	7. December 31, 2010

 

> _Of course, I found you... it’s our destiny! Don’t you remember, John? Serendipity..._
> 
> In front of him the taller man with the mane of artfully unruly curls was waiting, a five-pound note in his hand. John heart was bursting with joy at the sight. _My number, he found me!_
> 
> Letting it drop, William slowly engulfs his face and places the plumpest lips in the whole world upon his... _The things I’m going to do to you, my soldier, you’ve got no idea_ ... Falling into William’s thousand colours eyes, John was drowning more and more while the other man murmurs tenderly, _I want you, so much, why haven’t you found me already!_ John nudges the wonderful hands.
> 
> _Violin, I remember, these are violinist's fingers!_ Shaking his head in disbelief, he argues playfully _You are here darling, I don’t need to find you, silly man_ ... Panic rises as the delicious lips, the sharp cheekbones, the porcelain skin disappears slowly. _No, no, no, don’t leave me! No!_

Opening his eyes suddenly, breathless, John’s physically sore at the end of his dream. _How could a man that I know nearly nothing about can dig such a deep hole in my soul?_ He places a hand on his sternum, trying to calm his breathing.

 

Slowly, after a few minutes, he turns his head to look at the woman still asleep beside him. She looks so peaceful, unaware that her happiness can disappear in the blink of an eye. Unaware of his fantasy. Unaware of the doubt in her boyfriend’s mind. Unaware that fate can change the rest of her life.   _This is crazy, how is it possible that I dreamed of a man that I barely know when I am supposed, when I AM asking her to marry me today?_ Lying to himself as well as Sarah, he rolls on his side and gets out of the bed to get ready for the day.

He was near the stove, looking over pancakes, when Sarah presses her body against him while giving a little peck on the cheek.

“Oh! Pancakes!” She smiles as she pours her coffee, “no proper fried-up? Silly man, you are not turning vegetarian on me?” Laughing, she sits at the table. “Even if it’s New Year Eve, I still have to go to work till lunch... You’re lucky to have a day off! Do you have anything special planned  today?”

John freezes, looking at the skillet. Instead of eggs and bacon fried-up, a habit of his when he does not work, he had unconsciously decided to make pancakes. _I wonder if William likes pancakes? I could probably switch cow’s milk for almond or soy or something like that._ Dropping his spatula on the countertop, pearls of sweat suddenly appear around his face. _What is that! Who cares what he’s eating for breakfast!_ Feeling nauseous _,_ he gasps for air. The little bit of calmness he has managed to recover since he woke is dissolving quickly. _And, God, the flat is overheated!_

“John? Darling... Are you all right?” Sarah asks, looking at him worryingly. “Take it easy today, would you? You haven’t been yourself for the last week. You can talk to me you know? Is it something about work? About me?” Hugging the man softly, she murmurs, “is it about the flowers... I’m sorry, you know, it was uncalled for –”

“No, no, it’s okay. Just tired probably.”

Without pushing the subject, Sarah walks out of the kitchen and leaves for work.

 

He is still at the table when Mike enters the kitchen. “Hey! What are you doing here? Still in your pajamas?” After a second, he continues, smiling a bit, “Pancakes?”

“Yes,” John’s eyes frown at the uneaten pile in front of him as if they were challenging him, “you can have them if you want...”

“I won’t say no! I didn’t have the time to eat this morning...” he sits in front of his friend after he pours himself a coffee. “Is everything okay? Sarah told me that you were kind of off these days.”

“COULD EVERYONE STOP ASKING THAT?”

“Ohhhhh, that bad?” Mike sighs and puts down his fork – _too bad, these are really good!_  “Seriously mate, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m going to get ready and we are going to go to the jewellery shop.” He rises, not looking at his best friend’s sad and slightly disapproving face, and rushes to the bedroom to get dressed.

They leave the flat silently, getting in a cab. Mike, unable to find what to say, is screaming inside ‘don’t do it!’ It’s not that he didn’t like Sarah, but he never saw John that emotionally invested in her as he was in the stranger. After fifteen minutes, they were now driving down Edgeware Road, he realizes that John was muttering to himself. “What? Did you say something?” As the cab turns on Park Lane, the doctor finally talks.

“This is just stupid you know,” he huffs melancholically, “serendipity, fate, love at first sight.” After a few seconds of silence, he nods resolutely, “yes, yes, this is what I must do, what I need to do. Sarah, Sarah is good for me.” Watching his friend, he never saw the white expense of Hyde Park. “Don’t you think that’s right? She’s good for me!”

“But are you good for her?” Mike proposes, the last attempt to shake his friend’s determination.

“What?”

“Is it good for her to marry someone who fell in love with someone else?” Quickly, before the other man objects, he explains, “okay, maybe not ‘in love’ it’s really soon, who knows! But, believe me, I never saw you like that before John! And certainly not about Sarah! You are always thinking about him, you are mesmerized, captivated...” Shaking his head at his friend’s folly he continues, “I really don’t know if it’s love, I don’t know if you have a future with that man, but what I know is that you can and should not settle for less when you know that more is --”

“SHIT! What’s that again?” the cabby yells, stopping Mike’s ranting.“This city, construction everywhere! And with the taxes we paid for the cab's license... Good Grace, this is crazy.” Turning at right instead of continuing south he explains, “Sorry, got to go around Knightsbridge and Belgravia to get to your destination.”

“What’s going on?” Mike is looking outside, unable to see why the road was blocked. “Is it a manifestation or something? It’s a lot of cop cars!”

“Who knows... Anyway, it’s only a few minutes’ detour, gents, don’t worry.”

Lost in his thoughts, John finally looks outside when he shouts, “stop the cab! We are going down here!” The driver barely stops, before John is already jumping outside, letting Mike pay the fare.

“What the hell, John? What are we... Ohhhh. Okay.”

Without a word, his friend enters Harrods a decisive look on his face.

 

 

“Oh, Sherlock!” Ms Hudson is looking around her. “What have you done! I can’t remember seeing the flat this disorganized!”

“I had a few cases, and, and, things.”

Noting Sherlock’s tired look, unkempt and a bit lost, she hugs him lightly. “You know what you need? A good cuppa!” She walks in the direction of the kitchen, tidying a bit on her way. “I’m taking care of it, I have biscuits also and you – young man! – you are going to take a shower and put on clothes!” The old lady laughs as she fills the sink with hot water. “My mum always said that the best way to feeling better is to look better!”

“If I remember, she was a maid... Don’t think the situation –”

“SHERLOCK HOLMES! You won’t talk about my mum like that. She was always cheerful, with a well-pressed apron, every day of her life!”

Beaten, the detective finally slowly rises from his chair, “Sorry, I’m going for a shower, you’re right.” _Anyway, there’s nothing I can do._

A bit later, wearing his usual posh clothes and clean-shaven, he sits at the table in front of a nice cup of tea and a tray of biscuits.

“Thank you, Hudders. You are far more than what I deserve at times.”

“Yes, I know!” She chuckles, looking fondly at the man. “And when you are finished, go outside, do something fun. Find a nice corpse or something.”

With mirth in his eyes, Sherlock frowns. “What your mother is going to think of you, Ms Hudson, wishing the death of someone like that.”

“I don’t want the DEATH of someone,” she protests hitting him playfully with a tea towel. “I just want you to... stumble upon a dead body.”

“I wish Ms Hudson, I wish...”

 

 

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?” The Harrods Men’s Accessories clerk was looking at them benevolently.

Knowing that their un-bespoke suits weren’t going to impress the man, he tries anyway. _But who knows, sometimes rich peoples are strange and don't dress accordingly!_ Clearing his voice, John turns to Mike for a bit of courage “Hum, it’s kind a strange request... You see, a few days ago –”

“December 23rd, precisely!” Mike supplies.

“Yes, thanks mate, so... On December 23rd I came here to purchase a tie. But, but, someone purchased it instead so... And it was the only one left so...” _How could I explain that!_

“So, you came to purchase something but someone else purchased it instead.” The other man repeats, patiently, a smirk slowly appearing in his thigh lips.

“Yeah, I know, it sounds stupid.” Rolling his eyes, he sighs, “Yes, THIS is stupid... Sorry, Sir.” He was about to turn away when the clerk puts a little box on the perfectly cleaned counter.

“We are still a bit understocked on ties, Christmas you know, but we do have some really nice handkerchiefs.”

About to start a rant about the usefulness of fifty pounds apiece hankie, he remains silent as the old man opens the little box to reveal a dark blue hankie with little umbrellas sewn on it.

“John... is this...”

“Yes, this is the pattern.” _This is a sign!_ Smiling like a madman, finally breathing, he quickly asks, “How much?”

“I think they are on sale, let me look.” Taking the silk cloth delicately in his hand, he read the price. “You are fortunate, Sir, it’s only five pounds.”

“What? Five pounds, how is it possible?” John was in shock... _five pounds, is it possible?_

“I’ve got a fiver, John, the change that the cabby gave me...” Fishing out the note in his pocket, he hands it to the clerk.

“Oh, this is strange...” the man shows the paper note to his clients. “Tsk, tsk, writing like that on Her Majesty’s face, it’s unlawful!”

Grabbing the note, the doctor heart skips a beat or two... until he realizes that it was his own number. “Oh... yes, you’re right.” He extends his hand to give it back.“That’s a pity, people have no respect.”

“Yes!” the vendor approves as he places delicately the handkerchief back in the box. “And it’s the second time today, can you believe it!”

“WHAT!” John and Mike shout at the same time, unaware of the weird look the other clients were giving them.

Placing a hand on his mate’s arm, Mike asks slowly, “I am curious, do you still have it?”

“Oh... it’s not noon yet, so my register has not been cleaned. Let me look.” Unhurriedly, he opens the drawer of his register and starts to check the pile of five pounds one by one. “You’re lucky, I don’t have a lot of them... Not this one, people pay mostly by card now, you know, not this one, not this one, not a lot of travellers' check either, plastic, always plastic. Oh! This is the one, gentlemen!” Smiling, happy to be of service, he shows the paper note to John.

“God, Mike... I’m going to faint.” Turning the note to the Queen’s side a giggle escapes his lips. “William, 207 224 3688... Thank you sir, thank you so much for your help!”

“But you can’t go with the money! My register won’t balance, I know it’s only five pounds but –”

Giving him another note from his wallet, the men rush outside of the store, unaware that the old man is smiling, looking suddenly decades younger. _Yes, a job well done, I was quite a good Lady Bracknell after all, back in the day..._

 

 

“Call him! Quick!” Mike urges his friend, ecstatic at the idea that their quest was finally over!

“I am, I am...” Holding his phone, he stops. “Maybe a text –”

“No! Talk to him!”

“Okay, yes.” With shaking fingers, he taps out the number and waits as the line rings... until William's voice resonates in his ear. _Oh my God, it’s really him!_ He was still laughing at his, ‘Yes it’s me, leave a message and don’t be boring!’ when the last _blip_ occurs “William... it’s me, John. From the other day, I told you... I so told you... That I was going to find you.” He laughs, his head light with happiness, feeling peaceful for the first time in days. “I don’t know what to say, but call me, please, just call me. I’m going to text you my number.” He waits for a second, before adding shyly, “I’ve... I’ve thought and dreamed about you every day, I hope that... that it was the same for you. If not, let me know please so I won’t...” taking a deep breath now that the stress was crawling back, he simply adds, “please, call me, William.”

He sits on a nearby bench as his legs refuse to support his weight, looking at his phone and at the five pounds note.

“Can you believe it, John! You found him! Your man!” Mike was utterly happy! Who knew that things like this actually happened! “I am believing in your fate, serendipity nonsense now mate!”

They were laughing, gingerly waiting for a reply from ‘William’ when a voice intrudes on their happy mood. “Doctor Watson?”

Rising his head, John stares at the really beautiful – if a bit emotionless – woman in front of him, “Yes, who’s asking?”

“If you want, I can speed up the process a bit... he’s foolish enough to say something stupid because he’s afraid.” Her little smile was warm, and John was suddenly able to see beyond the cold demeanour and appearance.

“Who are you talking about, Miss?”

Motioning her hand at the sedan parked in front of them, she replies, “the man you’ve been calling William.”

  


Sherlock is looking at the ice rink, dumbfounded, his old skates in hands. _This is so silly, I know what Mycroft is doing with the unsubtle gift of bringing them back from our parents’ cottage._ Unable to stop himself, he walks to the kiosk to buy a ticket. Thankfully, the rink wasn’t that full. _Something to do with family obligation probably for most of the people, it’s New Year’s Eve after all._

Sitting in a quiet place in the cabin available to store shoes and boots, he takes his skates out of the bag. They were, of course, perfectly sharpened, shined and ready to go.  A wave of souvenirs dance in his mind; the pleasure and the discipline of years of training, the disappointment of his coach when he decided that he didn’t want to do competition. _Exactly the same look that my music teacher gave me when I said that I didn’t want to become a professional violinist,_ he chuckles as he removes his shoes.

Later, with the college, the university, and other things... skating wasn’t that important anymore.

Pulling on the laces just right and without thinking, the repetition of a movement he has performed thousands of times, his most recent skating experience rushes to the forefront of his thoughts. _John..._ The joy of gliding near the man, of chatting while holding hands. No axel or pirouette was able to top that! Anxious to be on the ice, he removes his blade protectors and walks out of the heated little lodge.

The first steps were slow, conscious of having fallen so many times a week ago, but the joy of having his own skates and to be nearly alone with no one to impress, helps and his easiness came back quickly. His old habits, as well as years of rigorous training, finally kick in.

Lost in his world, he didn’t realize that the other skaters were slowly getting off the ice, leaving him the ice to himself. He is only happy to have more room to play, testing his old reflexes, doing simple single jumps then doubles. It is his first time skating in nearly ten years, but his discipline in martial arts and his general fitness eases his movements. At some point, he drops his coat on the rink boards, unable to get the amplitude and fluidity of movement he wants with the heavy wool. Closing his eyes as he slides on the empty ice, the music was beautiful, not the pop drivel they had played last time, it is perfect. _Nearly too perfect!_  

He stops suddenly, realizing he was all alone. He is about to send a text to his meddling brother – _I don’t need an empty ice ring to sulk, you twat! I am not a brooding teenager!_ – when he realizes that he left his phone in his coat pocket.

 

And something hits him on the back.

Glaring at the offending object, he squats elegantly to pick a handerchief on the cold surface. _What --_

“The tie was on back order.”  Spinning in the direction of John’s voice, Sherlock suddenly loses his equilibrium and falls. Hard. Skating quickly the few metres that separate them, the blond man kneels to check on him. “Are you all right? William... did you knock your head?” Softly carding his fingers to check for any injury, the doctor murmurs softly, “I told you that it was fate, you idiot, you don’t have the right to kill yourself or worse to forget everything about me because you’ve got a concussion or something.”

Looking at the other man, mesmerized, Sherlock blinks “John? But... What are you doing here, how do you know?”

“Serendipity... or someone who really want us to be together.” The doctor chuckles, knowing perfectly that it was too much coincidence, “the universe is rarely so cooperative... William, are you able to stand? The ice is cold, and you are only in your suit.”

“Oh... that’s why I’m a bit cold.” He sits and with John’s help is able to get up. Removing his eyes from the other man with difficulty, he checks their surroundings. “Is it only me... or we are a bit too alone.”

Laughing, the doctor didn’t let go of Sherlock “Good... you didn’t break anything. And I don’t know what happens, but a policeman was asking everyone to leave the rink but opened the door for me.” Sliding while holding hands, they went to get Sherlock’s coat. “Good, I was afraid. I didn’t want you to catch a cold, William.”

“A grey-haired policeman?” The detective asks, with a little smirk. “Sherlock.”

“What?” John frowns, afraid he had a concussion. “What did you say, William? And yes, it was a grey-haired man, with a DI’s badge.”

 _Mycroft and now Lestrade, you are both going to pay for this! But later..._ “My name, it’s Sherlock, William is my first name.”

Smiling, John argues, “So William IS your name.”

“No, I choose Sherlock years ago. Nobody uses William, not even my mother.”

Wrapping the tall, shivering man in his luscious coat, John murmurs, “so, I was special...”

“Maybe,” Sherlock replies in a flirty tone before the blond man pulls on his coat lapels and places his lips on the other man’s mouth, unable to resist, unable to wait a moment more.

 

After a sweet and gentle kiss, he murmurs longingly, his lips hovering over Sherlock’s, powerless to move more than a millimetre away. “Is it okay? Have I misread something?” As the detective gently shakes his head in the negative, the doctor tenderly places a hand behind his head, feeling the softness of the ebony curls under his fingers, and press his lips once more to Sherlock’s. Their hearts beating fast, in unison, as if they both knew before that moment that they were mean to be. That they were finally home. Doubt disappearing with each passage, with each sigh...

Everything is new, everything is better. The posh odours of nice bath and hair products, the smell of clean sweat, the tea Sherlock drinks, every sensation was bringing John’s life into a lighter, brighter place.  He pauses at the realization that he had only been surviving since his return, that now a new life is ahead of him. “Will –“, he chuckles but with an edge of apprehension, “Sherlock. Yes, _Sherlock_ , it suits you... Please tell me that I am not dreaming?”

Still awestruck that _his_ ex-military doctor is in front of him, the idea of raising a wall to protect his heart and mind from the assault of feelings is pushed away without hesitation. Absorbing everything, he is able to feel, to touch, to see, he doesn’t realize that John is waiting for him until a light frown appears on his forefront. “Sorry, sorry, did you say something?” Each word is punctuated by a little kiss on the blond man’s forehead. “Sometimes, it’s too much, and I can’t stop myself... I’m sorry –”

“Too much?”

“Yes, too much emotion, too much data, too much happiness...”

“Too much happiness, impossible!” Not waiting for the other man to argue, he pushes him on the board and was about to kiss him until his genius mind stops working when a posh voice interrupts his plan.

“A-hem, gentlemen, the ring is going to be open for the public in fifteen minutes so if you want to go back to the lodge –” He is cut by a warm voice, the muttering of a little argument clearly audible thru the speakers.

“Darling, don’t be stupid, they have fifteen minutes! It enough time for three slow...” The sound of a mic that was passing from one hand to another went on for few seconds until the second man screams, “You know nothing about popular music, NO YOU ARE NOT PLAYING A STRAUSS WALTZ, MYCROFT!” A second later, the voices disappear to be replaced by an 80’s ballad.

“Oh my God...” holding Sherlock’s hand John skates further on the ice, to a more secluded place where the fairy lights are already visible even if it was the middle of the afternoon. “I love this song!”

“I can’t say that I know it but I really don’t mind.” Sherlock murmurs as the chorus of ‘I want to know what love is’ begins. He is now in front of John, with a little smile. “I’m better than you, I’m the one who should lead.”

“Are you always this bossy,” the doctor chides, letting the tall man do what he wants with him, staying as pliant and cooperative as possible.

Finding a rhythm and a way of spinning while keeping contact with John’s body, Sherlock giggles, “Yes, I am... Sorry.”

 

Sparkles in his midnight eyes, John laughs merrily, holding himself with Sherlock’s coat “No, you’re not! Git!”

The love in his eyes is so pure that the detective nearly stops breathing before gasping as he wraps his arms around him, as if John was the oxygen he needs. Sure, strong, but relishing the helplessness he was feeling, the detective is submerged by a tide of love and warmth that leaves him boneless for a second. Totally forgetting for a moment that he is on skates, he suddenly loses his balance and drops directly onto John who has been brought down with him.

Gazing into Sherlock’s eyes, John whispers, “you didn’t have to do that if you want me to lay with you, you know.”

“I guarantee that my bed is warmer and more comfortable...”

As they kiss, forgetting the world around them, chuckling at their silliness, a flow of people starts to skate around them, catcalling or cooing. Reversing their role, Sherlock helps John to his feet, taking care to remove any snow he may have on his back before they slowly skate to the gate.

Suddenly coy, Sherlock remains silent as he removes his skate and waits for John.

“Do you have something to do now?” John asks, hopefully

“No, do you?” Sherlock asks, suddenly thinking about an engagement ring that is waiting in a shop.

Not wanting to hide anything, the doctor murmurs, “I don’t have anything more important to do at the moment, there is nothing more important than being with you.”

Pressing his hand in John’s, Sherlock smiles, “nothing more important.”

Holding hands, they start walking through the park under beautiful light snow – Mycroft swears that he didn’t order snow but Greg isn’t totally convinced – talking about sweet nothings and exchanging kiss after kiss.

 

Perfect as two souls that finally found each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheesy I know!
> 
> And don't worry with Sarah, she knew that something was off and is going to dance with someone wonderful and perfect for her at a New Year Eve :-)
> 
> Thoughts about the story? Suggestion for a movie?


	8. December 23, 2011 - Epilogue

A year or so later...

"What do you need at Harrods? The Christmas shopping is done." They don't have that much free time as friends are coming over for a little soirée that evening. He sighs peacefully, thankful for the last year.

The hospital was great now that he works in the ICU, his friendship with Sarah is strong - she wasn't that surprised when John spoke to her after leaving Sherlock in front of his flat and she now has the great boyfriend she deserved - and, of course, the Work! The excitement he was missing so dearly in the company of the genius he loves!

 _Everything is perfect!_ "We still have to get crackers and olives for ton --" To John surprise, Sherlock quietly grabs a bottle of bubbly wine (the expensive stuff!) from behind the counter. "Sherlock! This is crazy you know, you can't do that!" The doctor mutters, looking around and smiling shyly at the people around.

"Says who?" The detective chuckles, placing champagne glasses on the pristine counter top. The store is buzzing around them, people rushing to find the last few gifts needed for Christmas. Sherlock expertly pours the champagne and gives a glass full of golden bubbles to his boyfriend. _And more...everything is going as planned!_

 _Sod that! I won't complain that my boyfriend is too romantic_! He silently sips the expensive champagne before dropping little kisses on his partner's delicious lips. "A wonderful first year anniversary, love!"

Carefully, Sherlock places both elegant glasses - a gift from Ms Hudson - back on the counter top before he starts to French kiss his lovely doctor, not giving a damn of what people are going to say.

They are both a bit lost in the moment when someone clearing his throat snaps them out of their moment.

"Sorry, gentlemen - and I used that world really liberally - but this is a fine establishment and -- "

Laughing, John smiles at his brother-in-law. The disguise is the exact replica of the one he had donned a year ago to push him in the direction of his clueless brother. "This is so funny... You are so nice to --”

"I don't have a clue of what you are talking about, sir." Pushing the bottle dangerously near the edge of the surface, he starts cleaning. Feigning to frown at the PDA. 

"I think I'm going to take a picture!" Still chuckling John opens his phone but is pushed aside by a customer.

"Hey! I need something for my dad and --"

"Sorry, this section is closed." Mycroft icily replies.

"No, you were helping these faggots not a moment ago!"

The men are about to say something when a hand on his shoulder swiftly spins the cad around and a nice uppercut sends the bastard to the floor.

"Nicely done, Gregory! But what are you doing here?"

"That idiot forgot something at home." With a wink he drops a little box into Sherlock's hand.

"Oh... Right. Everything is going as you want brother mine, yes?" Switching off the lights under the counter Mycroft winks and leaves with Greg, happy to have participated in Sherlock's little trip down memory lane.

"Sherlock..." John asks, trembling, "is it what I think it is?"

Mumbling sadly, the detective isn't able to look in his boyfriend's eyes. Disappointed. "We were supposed to go to Costa, then the ice rink, that cheesy rock song, I spoiled everything!" _I am so stupid! I can't believe I forgot the ring! And Graham, how could he be so obvious!_

"Shuuush it's okay. And yes." John fingers were playing in Sherlock's curls soothingly. "Yes."

"And to think that Mycroft helped me, all this for nothing and --"

"Yes."

"That champagne was 75 pounds! All this for --” the detective finally stops muttering to himself. "John?"

"Yes, love."

He repeats, the doubt slowly leaving his eyes. "Yes?"

Chuckling, John complies. "Yes... A thousand times yes. Come down here for a kiss, you idiot."

And just like that, amongst the ridiculous expensive ties and handkerchiefs, tourists and startled regulars, they pledge to love each other till the end of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for real now :) 
> 
> See you on the other side of the next romcom AU lol


End file.
